


Beautiful Stranger

by Saint_Rick_The_Dick



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/F, Flirting, Fluff, Non-Chronological, PTSD, Useless Lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:54:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22257532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saint_Rick_The_Dick/pseuds/Saint_Rick_The_Dick
Summary: A modern Mozara AU One Shot where Moze and Amara meet in the most unlikely of places: The Internet.
Relationships: Amara/Moze (Borderlands)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	Beautiful Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> Three things heavily inspired this fic: [Beautiful Stranger by Halsey](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ONS51QzCh1Y), [If U Think About Me by Kim Petras](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=egxM9NXMnZM), and how I met my girlfriend [jenniebread.](https://jenniebread.tumblr.com/)

Weeks of this back and forth has taught Moze a few things: Amara is absolutely shameless, and Moze _loves_ her for it. Somehow, the woman always knows just what to say in order to make Moze blush. And while it’s altogether obscene, it’s also completely captivating.

How does she respond? I’d go anywhere with you? I’d wear anything as long as you’re the one taking it off? Moze types out half a dozen replies only to delete them all. Flirting isn’t her strong suit, but dammit if she’s not dying to - 

A chorus of car horns send her scurrying across the busy city street. Along the way, she dodges cyclists, pedestrians, random piles of dirty, melting snow. Don’t walk and text, they say. Now, she knows why. Once safely on the sidewalk, she tucks herself into the doorway of an empty storefront.

\-------

_Ping!_

_Ping! Ping! Ping!_

Ignoring the notifications is an exercise in futility - Moze is a mod - so before the fifth ping can land, her phone is in hand. Scrolling through the messages tells her they have a new member. She offers her standard greeting. 

**_TigerLady has joined the group chat._ **

**IronBear: Sup? Welcome to Hunters and Gatherers. Make sure you drop an intro in the About section.**

**TigerLady: Thanks!**

**LuckyCharms: Aye! Snagged us another one! Knew that post would come in useful.**

**TigerLady: What post?**

**IronBear: He means the one on Collector’s Corner.**

**TigerLady: Huh. Didn’t see it. Don’t use that forum.**

Part of Moze wants to ask how the newcomer found them, but it’s ultimately irrelevant. 

**IronBear: Doesn’t matter. You’re here now. Go ahead and poke around. If you have any questions, let me know.**

**TigerLady: 👍**

——

“Tina!” Moze yells for her roommate. “I need your help!”

Hurried footsteps announce Tina’s arrival. As usual, she’s a mish-mash of styles and colors: the result of a strong fashion sense combined with her penchant for too many gaudy accessories. 

“What up, boo?" 

"Which top looks better?" 

At the question, Tina squints, points a squirrely finger in Moze’s face. "You finally landed a date with that fine ass lady from the chat room, didn’t ya?" 

Moze feels her cheeks burn. Tina can be eerily perceptive. "I… Maybe. Yes.”

“Good!” Moze visibly jumps. “About damn time! How long you been thirstin’ her up? Girl, you better _get some_ and then _get some more_ , know what I’m sayin’? Oh, and I like the white camisole and leather jacket combo. Really says ‘sit on my face.’" 

——

**IronBear: Kick ass find today! Excuse my goofy grin, but I was so stoked.**

**TigerLady: @IronBear you are definitely the most beautiful thing in that picture.**

**IronBear: Uhhhhh**

**LuckyCharms: LOL**

**Lucky Charms: Congrats, Tiger. You prolly just made her head explode**

**NoGenderOnlyDogs: I am inclined to agree with Lucky. Regardless, what an excellent acquisition!**

**IronBear: WILL BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP**

Goddamnit, Moze could just _die_. Tiger thinks she’s hot? How can that be when Tiger is easily one of the most attractive women Moze has ever seen? Assuming, of course, her pics aren’t fake. Which is very possible given their only interaction has been over the internet and - 

The cheery chirp of an incoming private message catches her attention. It’s TigerLady, and Moze is quite certain her heart is going to beat right out of her stupid chest.

**TigerLady: Did I kill you?**

**IronBear: Nope. Still here.**

**IronBear: Barely.**

**TigerLady: Good. I’d hate for you to die before I have the chance to impress you with my vast and useless collection of space rocks.**

**IronBear: Space rocks?**

**TigerLady: That’s what I collect: space rocks and muscles.**

And Moze certainly loves those muscles; Tiger’s arms alone are enough to make her swoon.

**TigerLady: By the way, I’m Amara.**

Moze whispers the name, rolls it around in her mouth. It feels good to have a way to refer to this person other than just, ‘Tiger,’ but shit, she still needs to respond. Thanks to some unpleasant past experiences, she’s got a strict no real names policy. However, there are always exceptions to the rule.

**IronBear: I’m Moserah. Everyone calls me Moze.**

**TigerLady: Nice to officially meet you, Moze.**

**IronBear: You, too. Amara.**

—–

Years in the military means punctuality is woven into the very structure of Moze’s DNA; there’s no such thing as running five minutes behind. But that leaves her in a pickle. Does she show up to Chalkies on time? Risk arriving first and potentially coming across as desperate? Or does she get there a few minutes after, giving herself the opportunity to scope the place and ensure Amara is who she claims to be? 

From the living room of their tiny apartment, Tina makes the choice for her. “Didn’t you say you were meeting that lady at 7? Girl you better go! Your ass gonna be late!”

6:22 PM. If she leaves now, she’ll get to Chalkies at 7 on the dot.

Moze is out the door before she can second guess herself. Again.

—–

Find cover find cover Moze has gotta find cover!

_It’s an ambush! Incoming fire!_

Shrieking booms, one after another, and the world is coated in chaos. Moze falls to her knees, her fingers form a meager protective barrier behind her head. Someone is screaming; the voice is familiar. Shrapnel rains down, finds her back and shoulders, finds the uncovered portion of her skull. Hits hard enough to bruise. 

Can’t breathe! Can’t see! Blood rushes in her ears, her lungs burn. Does she move? Does she run? Does she does she _does she_ \- ?

And still someone’s screaming. Who is it? Sounds like her but she doesn’t scream like that. Hasn’t screamed like that since the raid wiped out her entire squad. Hasn’t screamed like that since she watched her URSA Corps members slaughtered in the name of corporate profits and endless government greed. Hasn’t screamed like that since - 

Since - 

_Since - !_

With a muffled shout, Moze’s eyes fly open and she sits up. Darkness bleeds to dim light, confuses her, makes her blink. Anxiety is a coiled snake in her belly, her heart is a caged bird beating uselessly against her ribs. She takes in one, two, three big gulps of air. Hands clench the sheets and - 

The sheets.

She’s in bed. More specifically, she’s in her bedroom. Beyond the window, the persistent glare of the city grounds her, reminds her she’s not a soldier anymore; reminds her she’s safe. Her ensuing sigh is resigned, but relieved. Such vivid nightmares are rare, yet still occur despite years of therapy, yoga, guided meditation. Nothing ever works.

Reaching for her phone, she reads the time as 3:37 AM. Undeniable temptation rears up, and she attempts to swallow it down.

 _Whenever you need me, I’m here_. 

But does ‘whenever’ really mean 3:30 in the morning while she’s shaking off the effects of a terrible dream? Only one way to find out…

Waiting isn’t her forte, so to kill time Moze tries a few breathing exercises. In and out. In and out. In and -

If Moze were the type to cry, she would. Instead, she smiles.

There’s no time to object. The phone vibrates in her hand.

“Uh… hello?”

“Hey, you. Doing alright?”

And _oh_ , Amara’s voice. Equal parts velvet and honey, Moze could listen to that sweet, sonorous sound for hours. 

“Moze, are you there?”

_Shit!_

“Oh, yeah. Sorry just - “ _drooling over you_ \- “getting my bearings. My brain’s a little fried.”

Amara chuckles. “I understand. Do you want to talk about it? The dream?”

“Nah. It’s… that doesn’t seem to help. Just…”

“Distractions.”

“…Yeah.”

“Well,” and here Amara’s tone turns playful, confident. “It’s a good thing I’m so distracting.”

——-

Ugh, all of these damn people are in her way! And of course the B9 train is running late _again._ Maybe she should’ve snagged an Uber? But nah, with the traffic this time of day the subway is definitely the lesser of two evils. Tina’s bike would have been a better option (folks actually move for cyclists) but then Moze would need to find a place to store the thing, and if it got stolen… 

A low rumble heralds the arrival of the long awaited B9. Moze is impatient, but polite, waits for the other passengers to de-board before stepping into the closest car. It’s a twelve minute trip to the Park Street Station, then another two minute walk to the bar, but Moze figures there’s at least a fifty percent chance she’ll simply explode before she gets there. 

When was the last time she was this nervous about _anything?_ Honestly, she can’t remember. And Amara? Sure, she’s funny and smart and hot as hell, but Moze has been with her fair share of women. None of them had this effect on her. Admittedly, something about Amara is… different. Different in a good way, in a way Moze has never encountered before. Different in a way that makes Moze think maybe this time will be different as well.

——

'Friend’. That word makes Moze feel funny. Yes, Amara is her friend, but there’s something else, something more. Weeks worth of flirty messages back up that notion. But then again, maybe she’s misinterpreting. Maybe she sees something that’s not really there because she so desperately wants it to be there.

Unsure how to respond, Moze settles on what she deems safe.

There it is.

—–

When Moze walks through the door of Chalkies, the dingy, digital, Budweiser clock on the wall reads 6:58 PM. The interior is standard: stools run the length of the oak bar, booths stand against the far wall, and in the middle of everything sit two, well-worn pool tables. There’s a crowd, but it’s steady as opposed to busy, and the atmosphere reminds Moze of joints she’d visit with her squadmates.

Winding through the other patrons, she makes her way to an empty spot at the bar, looks to her right and -

_Oh!_

Oh, _fuck._

That profile, those tattoos, those _arms_ : she’d recognize them anywhere.

“Hey, Tiger.”

At the greeting, Amara turns, smiles, and Moze absolutely _melts_. “You know, I think you lied to me, Moserah.”

Words are a thing Moze has forgotten how to use, because apparently the woman in front of her has the uncanny ability to short-circuit her brain. “I wha -? Huh?”

“You’re _much_ prettier in person.”

And just like that, Moze falls.


End file.
